The game (click here) is like Trivial Pursuit for aging hipsters. Okay, let me rephrase that. It’s probably a lot of fun, and surely not as depressing as those infomercials pitching CD collections from the 70s and 80s. I mean, take a look at this Boomer Trivia quiz

How many questions did you get right?

Well I sort of did that. Not really. I mean I laughingly said, “Everybody here’s over 21, right?’’ They all laughed like I was crazy for asking and I felt stupid and left the room.

But the next morning I realized I’d been right. The “social host law,”’ which county legislators passed in August, penalizes parents who permit those under 21 from consuming alcoholic beverages on their property.

Have you had any underage-drinking issues at your house since this legislation went into effect?

I didn’t think I’d be ready to come back to it today. But even though the past two weeks have been pretty miserable (and included a funeral), I hope my experiences can help those of you with difficult days ahead.

Here are some of the awful things I’ve learned in the past two weeks:

1. Funeral homes are money-making ventures. The people who run them are dealing with the most vulnerable consumers in the marketplace. That doesn’t stop them from ripping you off. Funeral directors who initially come off as weepily sympathetic quickly deteriorate into charmless slobs who bristle at the slightest provocation. Nothing is free. Don’t suggest that maybe they can put an air freshener in the bathroom. Don’t criticize the flowers at the doorway, even if they’re brown and crispy. And don’t even think of changing to another funeral home once the process has begun. It’ll cost you around $3,000.

2. Don’t expect all your relative’s doctors to respond to the news of their patient’s death with a quick, sympathetic phone call. When you do get a call-back, it will likely be from another doctor in the practice who is simultaneously flipping through a pile of pink “While You Were Out” slips and checking his email. And he’ll start the conversation by asking how his patient is doing — even though you clearly left a message that his patient is no longer alive. Don’t take it personally.

3. Grave diggers don’t like to work on Sunday afternoons. It interferes with televised sporting events. If they do you the favor of showing up with a shovel, you can expect to get a bill for overtime. They also don’t dress very nicely. It’s a bit disconcerting to be watching two sweat-stained men in ripped, dirty T-shirts shoveling dirt onto your loved one’s coffin. Couldn’t they at least put on something clean?

Okay, enough with the complaining.
Here’s what else I found out: The world is filled with truly nice, kind, compassionate people who will go out of their way to make you feel better. They’ll show up with food. They’ll write beautiful letters and call to see how you’re doing and hug you at just the right time.

And even if you think you won’t be able to get through it all, somehow you will.

Go down the hall and there’s free coffee, a big platter of fresh fruit and a living room filled with books.

The thing is, nobody comes out of their rooms. The only ones walking the hallways are doctors, nurses, aides and family members of the people staying at this place.

The place is the Hospice Inn, a 17-room facility on Long Island run by the Hospice Care Network. And if there was ever a dignified way to live out your last days, I’d have to say this is it.

From all the research I’ve done in the last few months, I’ve learned hospice is a relatively new phenomenon (meaning it’s become more prevalent in the U.S. in the past 30 years).

Once family members accept the realization that their relative has at most six months to

Often, however, hospice at home can be emotionally draining for caregivers, even if they’ve got hired help. We learned this week that Medicare also pays for what it calls “respite care,’’ meaning caregivers (like my mother) are entitled to three days off and the patient can be placed in a residential facility.

So that’s how I ended up here, sitting in one of these carpeted rooms. In our case, the respite care was “upgraded” to medically necessary care—my father needs some IV treatment, so he is here for at least a week and all expenses are covered 100 percent.

Last night, when I left to go home, I stopped to read the guest book in the lobby. I could have stayed all night. Pages and pages are filled with letters from patients’ families, thanking the staff here for allowing their loved ones to pass away with grace and dignity.

I don’t look forward to adding my letter to the book. But when the time comes, I am sure I will pick up the pen and start writing.

Roiphe was widowed after her husband of nearly 40 years died of a heart attack in 2005; the book chonicles the struggles she went through after he passed away.

The interview aired on NPR’s “On Point,” and you can hear the entire show, which included an interview with gerontologist Brian deVries (an expert on grief, bereavement and widowhood), whose insights were truly thought-provoking. Click here
to get to the site.

Before it became cool to be bald (as in totally head-shaved bald, not hair-on-the-sides bald), there were toupees and combovers. Then came Rogaine and Propecia and hair transplants.
But in New Zealand, there’s finally a way for bald men to capitalize on their rooftop hairlessness.

Check out this AP story

What do you think?

The series, which kicks off at 7 p.m. Wednesday (Sept. 10), aims to connect women who are caring for kids and aging parents, trying to find a job or dealing with any other midlife issues.
The group will meet four times: Sept. 10, Oct. 8, Nov. 5 and Dec. 10.

Want more info before you go to that first session? Send an e-mail to nwoodyard@gmail.com or skander11@aol.com.

The library is at 19 Whippoorwill Road East in Armonk. Learn more at northcastlelibrary.org or by calling the library at 914-273-3887.

If you missed it, click here to read it.

Anyway, there’s a mention of certain people (hmmm) whose outdated e-mail addresses are the online equivalent of Mom jeans!

In other words, if you’re like me and stlll have an AOL account, you’re hopelessly clueless!

A little while back, my brother laughed when I told him I still used AOL for my e-mail.
He’s only a few years younger than I am, but obviously he’s higher on the hipster scale. He told me to switch to gmail fast. I didn’t.

I do remember the last time I went to Borders and they asked for my e-mail address, the clerk (a youngish guy) snickered as he typed it into his computer. Oh, no! The mom jeans effect!!!

How about you? Have you updated your e-mail image?

I go to visit my father but I can’t stay as long as I’d like. I try to spend time with the son who’s still living at home, but I get distracted by thoughts of my father, who’s in really bad shape. And then I drive out to visit him and I feel pulled back to my house, which looks like somebody drove in with a wind machine and blew all the closets open and dumped everything all over the floor.

The mess is staggering. I come back home at night and despair that nobody will ever be able to visit again. But the last thing on my mind is organizing the house.

I keep trying to do the right thing. I don’t want to have any regrets.

A friend who recently lost a parent told me we’re not supposed to stop our own lives when a parent is terminally ill. But I’m having a hard time living as usual.

How do you balance it all and end up feeling like you’re doing what’s right?

Anyway, the point is… I’ve gotten far more relaxed about summer assignments, which is probably not a good thing.

Seems once they’re in high school, they get extensive reading lists and assignments that sometimes involve writing a few research papers. During the summer!

The first time around, I hounded my oldest son until he finally got it done. Then he yelled at me because the teacher never collected it. For my daughter, I lightened up a little. This time, I’ve barely asked if he’s reading the books (and honestly, they are three enormously heavy volumes).

The thing is, I’m kind of disappointed to see how much work teachers seem to pile on during the summer. And that’s one of the reasons I’ve stopped being a summer nag.
Do you bug your high-school kids about their summer assignments—or are you resentful about the way school has become a year-round activity?